


left.

by mstigergun



Series: Inglorious [17]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4675637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mstigergun/pseuds/mstigergun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Basten stares down at Leonid, whose hand has gone perfectly still on the curve of his horn. Always, he favours the </i>left<i> one. The idea follows swiftly enough, more the flash of an image before Basten’s eyes than anything else."</i></p><p>An exercise in trust and making better memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	left.

_left._

_*_

Leonid hooks a hand on one of Basten’s horns, tugging his head downward so that their lips meet in a violent embrace. A hard, brutal kiss – one that involves teeth and sharp edges and the fury that so often simmers to the surface when Leonid capitulates and drags Basten to his quarters. Basten nudges the door shut behind them, pushing them further into the dark room. His tongue slides against Leonid’s, their mouths slick and hot and unrelenting.

Another tug, and Basten’s body is pressed hard against Leonid’s, hand seeking the small of his back, tugging his hips closer. A breathy moan escapes Leonid’s throat – always so self-satisfied to gain a measure of control. Though that’s something he relinquishes just as eagerly.

Basten’s hand shifts to Leonid’s hip, thumbing the jut of his hipbone. They’ve only _just_ stumbled into Leonid’s quarters, cold and bare in the Frostbacks, but already –

He can feel Leonid’s erection, the little tremors that shiver up his body when Basten moves his hips just _so_. Basten’s hands dip, grasping the curve of Leonid’s ass. A half-laugh as Leonid hisses against Basten’s mouth. Basten’s grip tightens, angling his hips harder against Leonid’s – and he’s rewarded by a hitched breath. Another breathy moan, unbidden.

How he so enjoys tearing down the cool barriers Leonid has slapped up around himself. Seeing Leonid come undone despite his very best intentions, pliant under Basten’s ministrations.

It’s why he keeps coming back despite the insistence that he _won’t_. Basten knows that much – he’s mapped Leonid’s body, has learned precisely what makes him weak, what makes his breath stutter, how he can loose strings of delirious curses from that filthy mouth – and he’ll do whatever he can to keep it that way.

Leonid shoves hard against Basten’s horn, tearing their mouths apart and forcing an inch of space between their bodies. The loss of heat hits Basten immediately, who wants to feel again the hard shape of Leonid’s cock against his own. Leonid’s eyes are dark as the night beyond, skin flushed even in the chill. Basten’s hand skates the planes of Leonid’s hips, shifting to the thin fabric at the front of Leonid’s trousers, the laces strained. He rubs his palm, firm, against the outline of Leonid’s erection, and is rewarded with one of those stuttering breaths, a hungry and soft sound.

A sound that makes Basten’s skin flush with heat, each and every time, just the same as the plush swell of Leonid’s lips, the hazy and insouciant stare, his heated cheeks. Basten stares down at Leonid, whose hand has gone perfectly still on the curve of his horn. Always, he favours the _left_ one. Fingers curling and uncurling, clasping firm as he rides Basten hard, the _filthiest_ strings of words dropping from his mouth, or else the fluttering, tentative touch with Basten dips his head to take Leonid in his mouth.

The idea follows swiftly enough, more the flash of an image before Basten’s eyes than anything else. He pushes forward, walking Leonid back to the cold stone wall by his bed. Pressing him hard against the vertical surface. His fingers pick expertly at the laces of Leonid’s trousers – now an experienced gesture. Nearly as handily as Leonid can undo the clasps of Basten’s light armour, as readily as his hands find purchase against Basten’s skin.

Leonid leans up, mouth slick against the skin of Basten’s neck, teeth scraping flesh for a moment. He likes to leave marks, little indications that Basten is territory he has mapped, and it’s only fair: Basten leaves bruises against the smooth skin of Leonid’s thighs, the shape of his collarbone, no matter how careful he is. _I rather like it_ , Leonid has said, with a slow, heated stare that only ever leads to _more_ bruises, to the scrape of stubble against his soft human skin. _Looking debauched. I like people to know_.

As Basten does. And he would imprint the memory of Leonid into his bones and skin, would have a reminder of _this_ at the back of his throat. So each word he speaks is a memory of this man and what he _does_ to Basten.

Still, Leonid’s hand holds the curve of Basten’s horn as Basten’s hand works the knot holding Leonid’s trousers in place – work rewarded by little broken moans, unthinking movement, as his fingers add pressure _here_ or _there_ while he loosens the narrow laces. In a moment, however, the steady pressure, that consistent tugging downward, disappears and Leonid’s nimble fingers seek purchase on the buttons of Basten’s shirt.

“No,” Basten says, pushing Leonid’s hands away. “That’s not what we’re doing.”

The smallest frown creases Leonid’s forehead, parted lips fixed in an expression of confusion – though it does nothing to smother the heat simmering behind his dark eyes. “Then what, pray tell, are we _doing_.” The edges of his words are soft, rasped in the way that his voice gets when he’s buzzing with desire.

Basten plants one forearm on the wall above Leonid’s head, looming down – which never fails to make Leonid’s eyes darken, to make him catch his lower lip between his teeth as his flush grows more pronounced across his cheekbones. Basten’s fingers have stilled at the laces of Leonid’s trousers, and he lets his hand fall for a moment, again stroking the shape of Leonid’s cock.

Another little hissed sound escapes Leonid’s mouth, whose hips move forward against Basten’s hand despite himself.

Good, Basten thinks. He can use that.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” he says.

Leonid goes perfectly still, hands splayed against the wall behind him. “What?”

Basten huffs, still staring down hard at Leonid. “You’re impossible to shock, Leonid. And I know you don’t have anything against rough sex.”

“I –” Leonid stops, gaze flicking away. Even so, Basten can see the flush across his cheeks deepening, how his lip gets caught again between his teeth.

“It’s really one of the first things most people think of when fucking Qunari,” Basten continues. “Because of the horns.” He shifts his weight, edging closer still as his hand continues to stroke the shape of Leonid’s cock. Whose hips still rock forward, unthinking and beyond stopping.

“Surely,” he tries, “you’ve thought of it.”

Leonid turns his head into the shape of Basten’s arm, forehead pressing against his bicep as one of his hands twists itself in the front of Basten’s shirt. “Of _course_ I’ve thought of it,” he breathes, tongue flicking out across his lower lip. “But I – would never want to hurt you.”

Basten makes a low sound in his throat, fingers again turning to the laces of Leonid’s trousers. Tugging them looser until he can slip his broad palm inside of the thin fabric, grasp the hard heat of Leonid’s cock in his palm.

A strangled sound escapes Leonid’s throat, chasing a shocked little gasp.

“You won’t hurt me,” Basten murmurs, lips brushing Leonid’s soft hair. He waits, rolling his hand and then tracing the entire length of Leonid’s cock. A pause, during which Leonid turns his face into the muscle of Basten’s arm, mouth half-open against the fabric. “So – do you want to?”

Leonid tilts his head back, staring at Basten through dark eyelashes. Still, worry haunts his gaze – but it’s a worry readily enough dissolved when Basten closes his hand around the length of his erection, enveloping him in a heat he _knows_ Leonid loves.

“Yes,” he finally breathes, an almost choked sound. “But – you _stop_ if it’s not good, Basten. I’m serious.”

Too serious, he thinks, for someone who’s only ever had positive experiences with trust and communication and respect in bed. Who hasn’t been on the receiving end of something – frightening.

“I will,” he says, pushing himself off the wall, something hot flaring inside his chest. “And I trust you.”

Leonid’s gaze softens. Well, Basten will see if he can’t give him a better memory to carry with him – and something for himself as well.

Basten drops to the ground, tugging down Leonid’s trousers and freeing his cock, which juts, hard and thick, into the air between them. Already, Basten can feel the weight of it against his tongue, can hear the breathy sounds that will escape Leonid’s mouth. Can feel his own erection flush in response.

He reaches out and grasps Leonid’s dick by the base, lips parted. A quick glance upwards: he meets Leonid’s stare, flushed and heated, and Basten feels his lips curl into a smile. “It’s alright,” he murmurs. “Go ahead.”

Leonid’s hand flutters down to Basten’s jaw first, thumb tracing the curve of his chin, the long scar that cuts up one cheek. Another moment, and both hands have settled on his horns. A gentle, tentative touch.

That Basten should need to take the initiative in this – unexpected, but not –

It is still _everything_ he could want.

Basten slides his mouth forward, the tip of Leonid’s cock pushing past his lips. He takes a moment, tongue pressing against the head of the cock in his mouth – that first taste of Leonid who sucks in a small gasp. His hands move to Leonid’s hips, fingertips indenting Leonid’s warm skin as he tugs his lover closer. Deeper.

Leonid makes a choked sound as Basten swallows down his length. Startled. His hips move back, before Basten tugs them close again – this familiar weight across his tongue a blessedly sweet delight. His tongue traces the length of Leonid’s shaft as he again guides his Leonid’s hips forward.

It’s not enough, Leonid’s arms stiff, fingers wrapped tight around Basten’s horns but not _using_ them. Each little movement is so very controlled, wound _tight_ – too careful.

Not at all what he wants for either of them. Basten wants to make Leonid _lose_ himself in a way that he can’t with anyone else. He pulls away, blinking up at Leonid, whose chest rises and falls rapidly. Like he’s an animal in pursuit.

“Leonid,” he says.

A flash of concern across his features. “Was it too –”

Basten’s fingers dig deeper into the skin of his hips. “I want you to _fuck_ my mouth. You’re not going to hurt me. I’ve done this with _Qunari_ and came away pleased enough that I want to do it with you. So _use_ me – please.”

It might be please that does it. Something flares, then, in that dark gaze. Leonid’s lips, swollen still from the violence of their embrace, curl into a sharp little smile. “Of course I’ll give you what you want,” he breathes. “You know I never disappoint.”

And, like that, he slides his cock past Basten’s waiting lips, drawing Basten down the length of his dick with a firm grip on his horns. Leonid lets out a long breath, one that shakes, as he rocks his hips back, guiding them forward again as he forcibly angles Basten’s head so that his mouth is a long, slick passage. A sharp little movement, and he’s fucking Basten’s mouth with firm strokes.

Basten flicks his tongue against the sliding length of Leonid’s cock, a long moan rumbling in his throat. His own cock strains against his trousers, and he reaches one hand downward, rubbing his palm across his own package. Leonid hisses, thrusting deeper as Basten adjusts the angle of his head, swallowing the whole length of Leonid’s cock down, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks with an insistent and unrelenting pressure. A slow, hot ache uncurls in the corner of his jaw – the ache he wanted so badly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” gasps Leonid, jerking Basten’s horns forward. Close, a sound Basten now knows as intimately as the crackling of magic. In kind, heat coils, tighter and tighter, in the base of Basten’s gut. His mouth is wide, accepting Leonid’s length readily, hungrily – he groans, again, around the hot flesh of Leonid’s shaft and –

“ _Almost_.” A warning, but Basten’s hands both grab hard at Leonid’s hips and force him hard into Basten’s mouth – as deep as he can go, lost in the wet space of his mouth. Leonid’s hips jerk, and he comes, Basten swallowing greedily as his fingers dig crescents into the soft skin of Leonid’s hips.

Leonid withdraws immediately, and Basten can feel the ache already, the rasp of a throat well-used. In an instant, Leonid has sunk to the floor next to him, hands dropping to either side of Basten’s face, thumbs stroking the lines of his jaw.

Basten smiles at him in the dim room, meeting Leonid’s soft and concerned gaze with a heated look of his own. “I hope you’re here because your knees won’t work, not because you’re _concerned_.” Words that come out with a rasp, ragged at the edges.

“I’m not concerned,” Leonid lies, the flush etched across his cheeks deepening. “I was _careful_. And, no,” with a little smile, “my knees _aren’t_ working properly, may the Maker sanctify you for what you can do with your mouth, you wicked man. But I also thought –”

Like that, his hand drops to Basten’s cock, flushed and leaking inside of his trousers.

And, though his knees hurt, Basten stands, hauling Leonid up beside him and plucking him straight up – which Leonid _hates_ , but he’s too bright with pleasure and heat to complain. He drops his lover on the bed, hauling his own shirt off as Leonid sets immediately to his too-tight trousers.

When Leonid gasps and swears beneath him, fingers scratching hard at the expanse of Basten’s shoulders, breath hot against the underneath of Basten’s jaw as he thrusts _home_ , he is – Basten thinks – all the more vocal. Even more hot-blooded, more insistent in rolling his hips into Basten’s deep thrusts, in tilting his head back and arching his back in pleasure.

And, after, he certainly twines himself more firmly against Basten’s body, chin nestled against Basten’s shoulder. One hand absently traces the curve of Basten’s left horn – always his favourite – as he sinks toward sleep. Warm and quiet in the deepest hours of the night, and filled with the sort of memories he deserves.

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks forever to [enviouspride](http://enviouspride.tumblr.com) who was not only a serious help in ironing out some details, but also gave me the encouragement necessary to put this up. <3!
> 
> More [Basten Adaar](http://enviouspride.tumblr.com/tagged/basten-adaar) and [Leonid Trevelyan](http://mstigergun.tumblr.com/tagged/leonid-trevelyan) ([and little fics!](http://enviouspride.tumblr.com/tagged/otp%3A-fix-you)), if you're so inclined.


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